


What He Feels

by kinksock22



Series: What He.../Swesson [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - It's a Terrible Life, Alternate Universe - Not Related, Blindfolds, Bondage, Bottom Sam, Coming Untouched, Dom Dean, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Insecure Sam, Light Angst, M/M, Praise Kink, Rimming, Sex Toys, Sub Sam, Swesson, Top Dean, safe sex, sam and dean not related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 06:05:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7255516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinksock22/pseuds/kinksock22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean have been dating for months. Sam's doubts and insecurities aren't going away, in fact, the longer they're together, the worse they become.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What He Feels

Being in a relationship with Dean is somehow both harder and easier than Sam thought it would be. They’re discreet at work of course; Dean isn’t Sam’s boss but he _is_ upper management and they could get in trouble. That doesn’t mean that Dean doesn’t call Sam up to twenty-two for simple tech problems that he could easily take care of on his own just to tease and torment Sam a little during the day. And on the occasions that they both have to work late, Sam will go up to Dean’s office for a replay of their first night together.  
  
Dean made Sam feel things he never felt before, things he never even thought himself capable of feeling. It was amazing. It was terrifying. Just a few short months into their relationship and Sam already doesn’t know what he’d do without Dean. He cares deeply for him; pretty sure he already loves him. His past relationships were nothing like this. While Sam had cared for everyone that he’d dated, even been in love before, it never happened so fast and so all-consuming.   
  
What scares him the most is the fact that he doesn’t know if Dean feels the same, if he ever will. He knows Dean cares for him, that much is obvious, but he doesn’t know if things are as serious for Dean as they’re quickly becoming for Sam.   
  
Despite his warnings about not being the type to usually have relationships, Dean is a wonderful and attentive boyfriend. But he’s more than a little closed-off when it comes to talking about his feelings or where things are going between them. And Sam’s just too afraid to push. He doesn’t want to risk ruining what they do have by forcing Dean to take a closer look at their relationship or push him into something he’s not ready for, may never be ready for.   
  
Sam’s jerked from his thoughts when a hand grips the back of his neck, gently but firmly squeezing the slightly tense muscles. Sam closes his eyes and leans back into the touch automatically, unable to resist Dean’s hands anywhere on his body. He’s unable to bite back a soft sigh when he feels Dean’s lips brushing against his temple, his boyfriend’s arm sliding around his chest.  
  
Dean hums quietly and kisses down the side of Sam’s face, teeth scraping over the hinge of his jaw. Sam’s lips fall open and he leans his head back, his whole body pretty much melting, the slight tension in his muscles from his worried thoughts fading away.   
  
“Mm, much better,” Dean murmurs against his ear. “What were you thinkin’ so hard about, sweetheart?”   
  
Sam shivers slightly at the moist warmth of Dean’s breath, the low rumble of his voice. But the feeling is short-lived. He knows Dean expects an answer and there’s no way that Sam can tell him the truth. But he also can’t lie either. He’s never been good at it and he’s even worse with Dean.   
  
Sam turns his head slightly toward where Dean is leaning over the back of the couch, catching just a glimpse of those emerald-green eyes before he recloses his own, leaning forward enough to rest his forehead against Dean’s chin. “You,” Sam answers softly. It’s _mostly_ the truth.  
  
Dean hums again, one hand sliding down Sam’s chest, the other sliding up into his hair. “Bad things?” Dean asks quietly.  
  
Surprised, Sam sits back and looks up at Dean, his eyes wide. “N-no,” he stammers. “Why would you think that?”  
  
Dean lets go of him and Sam panics for a few seconds until he sees Dean moving around the end of the couch to take a seat next to him. Warm, strong hands take his own, their fingers lacing together. A soft smile curls up Sam’s lips and he can feel his cheeks flush, and dips his head shyly. Dean dips his head down to catch his eyes. “This right here,” Dean states.  
  
“Huh?” Sam asks, frowning slightly in confusion.  
  
Dean lets go of one hand and brushes the tips of his fingers across Sam’s cheek, down over his dimple. “Usually, when you think of me, this is what you look like,” Dean explains. “When you were sitting here a few minutes ago, you were frowning and I could see the tension in your shoulders from across the room.” He cups Sam’s cheek and Sam leans into the touch. “See why I would think it was something bad?”  
  
“It wasn’t,” Sam insists. “I swear.”  
  
“Okay,” Dean nods. “Then what was it?”  
  
“Nothing, really,” Sam replies. Dean quirks an eyebrow. “Dean, seriously, it was nothing. Just… Lost in my own head for a moment.”  
  
Dean stares at him for a few long moments before nodding again. He leans back against the cushions and slides an arm around Sam, pulling him against his side. His hand ends up back in Sam’s hair and he tucks Sam’s head under his chin. Sam relaxes into the touch, turning enough to nuzzle against Dean’s neck. “Okay, I’ll let it go,” Dean murmurs. “For now. But when you’re ready to tell me, I’m ready to listen.”  
  
Sam closes his eyes and snuggles closer, not wanting to think about having to tell Dean what he was thinking about, not wanting to think about the dark direction his thoughts had gone in the first place. They’d had a nice dinner and had the whole weekend to spend at Dean’s apartment, nothing to worry about or focus on but each other. The last thing Sam wants is for his stupid insecurities to mess everything up.   
  
Dean’s arm slips down around his waist when Sam turns more into him, pressing a kiss to his neck, sliding his nose along the strong curve of Dean’s jaw. Dean chuckles softly and wraps his other arm around Sam as well, keeping him tucked close against his side. “Tryin’ to distract me?” he teases softly.  
  
“No,” Sam whispers. He is but he isn’t going to admit it.  
  
“You’re a terrible liar, Sammy,” Dean chuckles again, squeezing his arms around Sam. “Luck for you, I’m okay with a little distraction right now.”  
  
Sam sighs softly, with relief and contentment, when Dean grabs the back of his hair and pulls his head back, dipping down to slide their lips together, slow and deep. Dean’s kisses are enough to drive Sam wild, enough to leave him hard and panting for more before Dean even lays a hand on him. He’s _never_ been kissed like Dean kisses him, slow and sweet and passionate and just a little rough, a little desperate. Dean puts as much thought and effort and care and intensity into his kisses as he does everything else. And Sam loses himself in them every time, wrapped up in the pleasure and the pure, unadulterated feeling of being _Dean’s_.   
  
Dean cradles the back of his head in one hand, his other hand sliding down over Sam’s hip, the curve of his ass. Sam moans softly in the back of his throat, pressing impossibly closer against Dean’s side. Dean ends the kiss with a nip to Sam’s bottom lip and Sam’s eyes flutter open slowly, locking with Dean’s. “C’mon, baby,” he murmurs, voice already dropping to that low, whiskey-rough growl that makes Sam’s whole body tremble. “Let’s go to bed.”  
  
Sam lets Dean up, smiling softly when Dean grabs his hand and pulls him up as well. He follows behind as Dean leads him down the hallway and into his bedroom, only dropping Sam’s hand when they’re standing right in front of the bed. He slowly strips off Sam’s clothes, standing close enough that Sam can feel the heat radiating from Dean’s body but careful to not let any part of them touch. By the time he’s pushing Sam’s boxer briefs down and off, Sam’s whole body is trembling, and he bites down hard on his bottom lip to keep from begging.   
  
Dean circles behind him, fingertips just barely dragging over his shoulders and Sam’s eyes flutter closed. He gasps when Dean presses up against his back, still fully clothed, his hands curling around Sam’s hips, pulling him back. He can feel the hard, thick line of Dean’s cock pressing against his ass and can’t stop himself from rolling his hips back.  
  
“Easy,” Dean murmurs, fingers tightening, flexing against his hips. When Sam stills, Dean kisses the back of his neck. “That’s it, sweetheart.” Just like always, Dean’s praise makes his stomach swoop and his pulse pound.  
  
He reopens his eyes when Dean steps away from him, the warmth disappearing from his back, those strong hands leaving his hips. Dean circles around until he’s standing in front of Sam again, those emerald eyes dark and locked on his. Dean reaches up and slowly unbuttons his shirt, shrugging to let it slide off his broad shoulders, gaze never leaving Sam’s. His undershirt follows next and Sam licks his lips, mouth watering with the need to taste, fingers flexing against his side with the need to touch. Dean moves onto his pants next, slowly tugging the belt free and Sam shivers, his skin tingling with the remembered feeling of the leather striking his ass, the pleasured-pain of the sting left behind. Dean doesn’t use it often, mostly prefers to use his hand, but he has a few times.  
  
The belt falls to the floor and Dean slowly undoes his pants, each click of the zipper sounding loud in the silence between them. He pushes them down and casually steps out of them, leaving him standing before Sam in nothing but tight, black boxer briefs, his cock tenting the front of the soft material. Sam’s knees dip slightly and he barely fights back the urge to drop to his knees at Dean’s feet and bury his face in his crotch.   
  
That’s been one of the hardest things to get used to in their relationship. Sam’s always been less controlling than any of his other partners but he’s never been quite so submissive before. He can’t really explain it, it’s just something that Dean brings out in him. He never thought he’d be in a D/s relationship, that he’d actually enjoy it. But Dean makes it so easy to just give up any and all control, just let him take the reins and lead Sam wherever he wants him to go. He’s learned in the past few months to fight the urges to reach out and touch, take, and he’s learning more and more to have patience but it’s not always easy. Especially at times like this, when Dean’s simply standing before him, looking so beautiful, and Sam wants nothing more than to just _touch_.   
  
Dean finally closes the distance between them after a few long minutes. He slides one arm around Sam’s waist, his hand curving down over the swell of his ass. Sam leans into Dean’s chest, his head resting on Dean’s shoulder. Dean slides his other hand up Sam’s back and into his hair, turning his head enough to press a kiss to Sam’s temple.  
  
“On the bed, Sammy,” Dean commands, soft but firm. “Hands and knees.”  
  
Sam does as he’s told, crawls up onto the mattress and settles in the middle. He doesn’t look back at Dean but he can feel the weight of his eyes, knows that he’s watching every move. Sam still isn’t used to it, to someone as gorgeous and perfect as Dean paying attention to him, wanting him. He still blushes and stammers, has to fight the urge to shy away from that intense emerald-green gaze.   
  
He can hear Dean moving around behind him, the sound of a drawer opening then closing a few moments later. The mattress shifts slightly with Dean’s additional weight and Sam closes his eyes, lets his legs slide open wider even though his cheeks are already flushed with the heat of embarrassment. This isn’t nearly the first time Dean’s had him in this position but he still has trouble relaxing into it, just knowing that Dean is back there, knowing that he can see all of Sam.  
  
Strong, warm hands grab his hips firmly and soft, wet lips press against the small of his back. A wet tongue drags up his spine until Dean is draped over his back. Dean kisses his shoulder and slides one hand down Sam’s arm, fingers curling around his wrist.  
  
“Stretch your arms out for me,” Dean murmurs against his ear. “Grab the headboard.” Sam lets his weight fall onto his elbows then his chest, straightening his arms out and curling his fingers around the wooden slats. “That’s it, baby,” Dean praises, kissing the back of his neck.  
  
Sam reopens his eyes when he feels something soft and smooth slide up his arm. Dean moves to the side just enough to tie each wrist with a red, silk scarf. Sam barely bites back a whimper. It’s not that he doesn’t like bondage – he actually kind of likes it a lot, more than he thought he would – but at the same time, he kind of hates it, hates knowing that he won’t be able, or allowed, to touch Dean.  
  
Those plush, wet lips brush against his shoulder then down his back again, over the curve of his ass. Sam’s sort of expecting it – Dean seems to thoroughly enjoy it as much as Sam does – but he still jerks, moaning harshly and pulling on the scarves binding him, when Dean pulls his ass cheeks apart and drags his tongue down the cleft, straight to his entrance.  
  
A sharp, stinging slap is delivered to one cheek and Sam groans, tilting his hips up. “Don’t tug on those, you’ll hurt yourself.” He can hear the concern in the low rumble of Dean’s voice and it sends warmth surging through his whole body.  
  
Dean spreads him open again and swirls the tip of his tongue around Sam’s rim, just barely pushing against the tight furl of muscle. Dean groans and the sound vibrates through Sam’s whole body, makes him gasp and arch his back, trembling legs sliding open wider. While he still feels slightly embarrassed and uncomfortable, it’s easier to ignore when Dean’s hands and mouth are anywhere on his body, when he has that amazing pleasure Dean provides to shift his focus to.  
  
Dean teases around his hole, pushes just the tip of his tongue inside, then pulls away, licking down his perineum to the back of his balls then slides his tongue back up, flutters it against his rim again. Dean always takes his time when he’s rimming Sam, draws out the pleasure and the teasing until Sam can barely breathe, can barely think.  
  
Dean pushes forward more, burying his face deeper, his stubble scraping against the sensitive skin, tongue pushing harder against his hole, opening him up so slowly. Sam mewls and presses back against him, trying to get more, deeper, _anything_.   
  
But instead, Dean pulls away. Sam whimpers, his head hanging between his shoulders. A hand slides over his ass, teasing along the cleft, over spit-slick skin, and Dean kisses his temple. “Could spend the rest of the night just eating you out, sweetheart,” Dean murmurs, nuzzling the side of his head. “But I got so much more planned for you.” Sam shivers at the low rumble of Dean’s voice, at the dirty, sensual promise of the words.  
  
“Dean,” he moans softly, lifting his head to look up at him, eyes wide.   
  
Dean smiles and slips a hand into his hair, fingers tightening in the sweat-damp, messy strands. He tugs slightly and Sam’s lips part, his cock twitching as fresh pre-come leaks from the tip. Dean dips down and captures his lips in a fast, dirty kiss that’s over way too soon. Sam tries to chase him when he pulls away, despite the hand still buried in his hair. He moans at the sting, the painful pleasure as Dean tightens his fingers and tugs just a little harder.  
  
Dean reaches down and grabs something next to his knee. He holds it up in front of Sam and it takes a few long seconds for him to focus well enough to see that it’s a blindfold. “Dean,” he repeats, a little uncertainly.   
  
Dean smiles again and cards his fingers through Sam’s hair. “It’ll be okay, baby,” Dean assures him. “I’ll be right here, the whole time. Won’t leave you.” He dips down and brushes a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. “Try it for me?” he half-asks. “And if you really don’t like it, I’ll take it off. Trust me.”  
  
Sam nods and lets Dean slip the blindfold over his eyes. He closes them even though it doesn’t make a difference, the material is too thick to see even shadows through. “That’s my good boy,” Dean praises, giving him another quick kiss before moving away.  
  
Sam feels him settle again behind him, close enough to feel the heat of his skin but not close enough to touch. He hears the familiar sound of the bottle of lube clicking open, then feels Dean’s slick fingers teasing around his hole. He keeps his eyes closed and lets himself get lost in the feeling of Dean’s fingers pushing inside him, twisting and rubbing and pressing randomly against his prostate. He doesn’t spend as long as he did when he was rimming Sam, just a few minutes of two fingers working inside him before he pulls them away.  
  
Sam makes a soft noise of protest, hating the completely empty feeling after having part of Dean inside him. “Shh, easy,” Dean soothes, gently rubbing one hand up and down his back. “Just gettin’ started, Sammy.”  
  
He frowns, his brow furrowing, when he feels something pressing against his rim, smooth and cool, thinner than Dean’s fingers but longer, though not as long as Dean’s cock. He turns his head and blinks his eyes open, momentarily forgetting about the blindfold as he tries to look behind him to see what Dean’s doing. Dean keeps rubbing his back, up and down his spine, as he pushes forward with whatever it is. “Relax, sweetheart,” Dean murmurs. Sam hadn’t even realized he had tensed up.  
  
Sam inhales deeply, exhales slowly and feels the smooth object slide into him further. He jerks when it suddenly starts vibrating, pressing right against his sweet spot and he realizes quickly that it’s a toy – a vibrator obviously. It’s an odd feeling and Sam isn’t really sure if he likes it or not. Not the vibrations, that actually feels almost _too_ good, but the foreign sensation of hard, unforgiving plastic.   
  
Dean pulls it out slowly then pushes in a little harder, setting up a rhythm, fucking it in and out of Sam. It’s angled perfectly to hit his prostate and he finds himself pushing back against each thrust. It still feels weird, different, unlike having Dean’s fingers or cock inside him but somehow still good, just not enough. He curls his fingers over the scarves binding his wrists, forearms and shoulders straining slightly, the muscles aching pleasantly, as he tries to push back harder, faster.   
  
Dean keeps the same slow, steady rhythm, his free hand on the small of Sam’s back, heavy and firm but not trying to stop Sam’s desperate movements. He can feel heat pooling low in his stomach, the base of his spine, the slow burn of orgasm crawling through his whole body. He arches his back, muscles trembling, and keens softly in the back of his throat, eyes squeezed closed tight behind his blindfold.  
  
“Dean,” he moans, soft and breathless, half warning, half plea.  
  
Dean’s hand moves from his back and he feels those thick, clever fingers curling around the base of his cock. Dean squeezes, choking back his release and Sam lets out a breath that’s closer to a sob, body still rushing headlong toward a climax that he’s not going to get, at least not right now.   
  
“Easy,” Dean murmurs. “Deep breath. That’s it,” he praises when Sam follows instructions, lungs dragging in air, following Dean’s commands without direct consent from his brain. “Doin’ good, sweetheart,” Dean continues softly, pressing a kiss to his temple.   
  
The vibrations turn off and Dean slowly, carefully pulls the toy from him. Sam feels open and empty, still strung out and close to orgasm, breathless and dizzy. His body doesn’t relax, muscles still tense and straining despite the toy being out of him. Dean lets go of his cock and slides his hand down Sam’s arm, quickly release first one wrist then the other.   
  
“Open your eyes, baby,” Dean urges softly.  
  
Sam blinks his eyes open, squinting a little even in the soft light of Dean’s bedroom. He hadn’t even realized that Dean had removed the blindfold. Dean’s smiling at him, one hand coming up to comb through his sweat-damp hair.   
  
“Y’okay?” Dean asks.  
  
Sam swallows thickly and nods. Dean helps him move, carefully turning him over onto his back, then dips down and kisses him, slow and deep. Sam’s arms feel like overcooked noodles but he still manages to get them up and wrapped around Dean’s broad shoulders, moaning softly as Dean presses up against his side. He gasps, pulling away from the kiss when Dean tightens his arms around him and rolls them over, tugging Sam until he’s draped over Dean, straddling his waist. He blinks owlishly, staring down at Dean. He can feel the long, hot, hard length of Dean’s cock against his own – he must have taken his boxer briefs off at some point – moans softly as he tilts his hips just enough to rub them together, the sweet burst of friction enough to have him trembling again.  
  
Dean’s hands are on his hips, fingers flexing. “Want you to ride me, Sam,” he murmurs.  
  
A nearly violent burst of arousal and heat surges through his entire body, his cock twitching eagerly against Dean’s, fresh pre-come making the slide even easier when his hips buck again. “Like the sound’a that, baby?” Dean asks, voice a low, half-growl.  
  
“Dean, please,” Sam whispers.  
  
Dean lets go of one hip and reaches down, grabbing a condom and the lube. Sam scoots back a little to give him room, unable to look away as Dean quickly and efficiently rolls on the condom and slicks himself up. For a moment, all his can think about is having Dean inside him bare, feeling nothing between them but lube and sweat, the sensation of Dean coming inside him with nothing there to catch it. He wants to ask, wants to beg, but like the discussion of feelings and where this is going, Sam can’t bring himself to. It’s too much, too big, a level of commitment that Sam is willing to give but doesn’t believe Dean ever would.  
  
Dean squeezes his hip and Sam’s eyes dart up to his, knows that at least some of what he’s feeling has to be written plain as day on his face. He’s always had a too expressive face, easily readable eyes, and Dean seems to be able to see through him better than anyone Sam’s ever met before.  
  
Surprisingly though, Dean doesn’t say anything. He scoots up a little, reclining back against the headboard, one hand holding the base of his cock, keeping himself steady. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he says softly, tugging a little on Sam’s hip.  
  
Sam licks his lips and lifts up on his knees, hands braced on Dean’s chest. He tilts his hips back, lowering himself slowly, his eyes fluttering closed, his lips parting, when the head of Dean’s cock breeches his still tight entrance. The burning stretch of not quite enough prep, the almost too full feeling of being spread wide around Dean’s thick girth, makes him shiver, his cock twitching, balls throbbing with the need to come. It’s the most intense feeling of pleasure and pain and Sam can’t get enough of it.  
  
Sam pushes back and Dean thrusts up, not stopping until Dean’s buried to the hilt. Sam leans into Dean’s chest, his head on Dean’s shoulder, whole body trembling as he tries to catch his breath. Dean’s hands smooth down his back, over the curve of his ass, then up again, constantly in movement, his low voice murmuring in Sam’s ear, telling him how good he feels, always feels, how Sam is his good boy, so sweet and good for him. Sam lets the praise wash over him, mixing with the pleasure coursing through him, and rolls his hips, just barely rocking back and forth, Dean’s cock sliding partway out of him then pushing back in deep.  
  
“That’s it, baby,” Dean rasps, hands curling around Sam’s waist.  
  
Sam tilts his hips, changes the angle just barely, and Dean’s cock drags over his prostate on the next thrust. Sam cries out, picks up speed and strength, lifting himself nearly all the way up, just the head of Dean’s dick holding him open, and slams back down. Their skin slaps together, the slight sting making Sam gasp and he pushes away from Dean’s chest, sitting up fully in his lap, hands braced on Dean’s shoulders. Dean’s hips jerk up against every thrust, pounding into Sam almost hard enough to hurt, and Sam knows it isn’t going to take much more.  
  
Sam looks up, their eyes locking together, and the heat in that emerald-green gaze pushes him even closer. “Dean,” he whispers, barely a breath.  
  
“C’mon, Sammy. Whenever you feel it, baby.” His fingers tighten around Sam’s waist. “Come for me.”  
  
It doesn’t take long after that. A few more perfect thrusts and Sam cries out, his orgasm crashing over him. Dean pulls him against his chest and bends his knees, slamming into Sam over and over, working him through it, kissing his cheek, the side of his lips. Sam barely registers anything but the pleasure coursing through him. His whole body feels weak, wrung out in the best way, and he closes his eyes again, turns his head and buries his face in the curve of Dean’s neck.  
  
Dean groans and tightens his arms around Sam, thrusting up hard and fast. He can feel Dean’s cock twitch and pulse, presses a soft kiss to the hinge of Dean’s jaw, using what energy he has left to roll his hips back, trying to give Dean as much pleasure as he can.  
  
Dean brushes a kiss to his temple and Sam melts against him. Dean gently rolls Sam off his lap – carding one hand through his hair when Sam makes a soft, unhappy noise – and onto his back. Sam watches through barely-open eyes while Dean gets up and tosses the condom into the trash and heads out into the hallway to the bathroom. He comes back with a wet, warm wash cloth and cleans Sam up, smiles softly then tucks Sam under the thin sheet. After that first night, whenever Sam is here there is no question that he’ll be staying the night; if it’s a Friday, he’ll spend the whole weekend. Sam can’t say that he minds, not in the least. He loves spending as much time as possible with Dean.  
  
Dean crawls into bed with him, pulling Sam into as arms as soon as he settles down. Sam sighs softly, contently, and closes his eyes, a small smile curling up his lips when one of Dean’s hands ends up in his hair.  
  
“You gonna tell me what you’ve been thinkin’ about all night?” Dean asks softly, presses a kiss to the top of Sam’s head. Sam can’t help the slight tensing of his entire body, knows damn-well that Dean has to feel it, with how close they’re pressed together. “You know,” Dean continues before Sam can say anything, before he can even think of _what_ to say, if he can find his voice that is. “You can tell me anything, Sam.” Dean rarely calls him Sam. It’s either Sammy or sweetheart or baby. For a moment, it throws Sam.   
  
He gasps softly when Dean rolls him over, onto his back, Dean leaning over him, that intense gaze locked on him. “Nothing, Dean,” Sam answers softly, flashing Dean a small smile. “Like I said, I was just caught up in my head.”  
  
Sam swears he can see a flash of disappointment in those emerald depths. “I’ll be here if you wanna talk,” Dean replies quietly.   
  
Sam nods and forces another smile. Dean settles back down and rolls Sam onto his other side, pressing up against his back, his arms wrapping tight around Sam. He feels tears stinging the corners of his eyes and closes them, trying to ignore how his stomach twists and his heart breaks a little at the thought of disappointing Dean. But the alternative, actually telling Dean what he’s been thinking, is even worse.   
  



End file.
